The Space Between
by eirenical
Summary: It wasn't everything Combeferre wanted to say. It wasn't everything by a long shot. But, it was all he would allow himself when they were separated. He'd not utter that particular confession when they were apart. Enjolras deserved more than that… he deserved more than that. (Enjolras x Combeferre, written for Miserable Holidays 2013)


**The Space Between** (2847 words) by **eirenical**  
**Chapters:** 1/1  
**Fandom:** Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil  
**Rating:** General Audiences  
**Warnings:** No Archive Warnings Apply  
**Relationships:** Combeferre/Enjolras  
**Characters:** Combeferre (Les Misérables), Enjolras (Les Misérables)  
**Additional Tags:** Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Holidays, Family, Friendship/Love, Childhood Friends, Romantic Friendship, Separations, Phone Calls & Telephones, Love Confessions, Dysfunctional Family, supportive family

**Summary:**  
It wasn't everything Combeferre wanted to say. It wasn't everything by a long shot. But, it was all he would allow himself when they were separated. He'd not utter that particular confession when they were apart. Enjolras deserved more than that… _he_ deserved more than that. But, Enjolras and Combeferre had known each other so long and so well, each was far too adept at reading the true meaning between the lines of what was spoken… and responding in kind. So, Combeferre hadn't said everything, but he hoped he'd said enough.

_(Originally written for themarbleloverofliberty for Miserable Holidays 2013.)_

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**_The Space Between_**  
by _eirenical_

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_Ring. (Combeferre?)_

_Ring. (Are you there?)_

_Ring. (Please pick up.)_

Combeferre's phone had been interrupting the family festivities all day. He'd answered it every time it had rung, often on the first ring, occasionally in the middle of a conversation with someone else. His family had been understanding - they always were - but as it continued on into the evening when they gathered for Christmas Eve dinner, Combeferre could see a few tempers beginning to wear thin at his constant distraction. He hadn't tried to explain, wasn't even certain that he could, but the silent pleas accompanying the ringing of his ignored phone were like tiny barbs sinking into his heart and slowly driving him mad.

_Ring. (I need you.)_

With that last ring, Combeferre's sister finally threw her hands up in disgust, "Oh, for the love of Pete, just answer it already. He's going to keep calling if you don't and then _none_ of us will have a peaceful dinner."

"You're sure?" It was to his mother that Combeferre turned with that question. This would set a precedent, allowing Combeferre to place this particular phone call above a family holiday... allowing Combeferre to place the person who had made this particular phone call above his family. He wasn't sure he was ready for that step, hadn't even come close to broaching the subject of shared holidays, common planners, how many days apart were too many… not even when the answer to that last question was rapidly dwindling down and approaching zero. They had made no declarations, not even of intent. And if no intent was declared, how then could it be acted upon, much less decided upon? They were friends, had been friends for so long neither could clearly remember the time before they'd met, but that was all they were… friends. And friends did not discuss things like shared holidays, common planners… and how many days apart were too many.

The knowing gleam in his mother's eye answered that unspoken question even as her words answered the one spoken. Patting his hand gently, Combeferre's mother said, "Yes, sweetheart. I'm sure. Answer it."

With that final permission, Combeferre pushed back his chair and stood, reaching into his back pocket even as he walked down the hallway to the den to give himself some privacy. He'd just barely hit the Answer button, only just gotten the phone to his ear, when a frantic voice broke over him, "Combeferre, _they're talking about education reform._"

Sighing heavily, Combeferre sank down into the embrace of the old, worn-out couch and pulled off his glasses, pausing only briefly to pinch the bridge of his nose before putting them aside. Keeping his voice low and as calm as he could manage, he said, "I would think that would be right up your alley, Enjolras. We've been pushing education reform on the agenda for months. You know the talking points better than any of us. You wrote them."

Combeferre decided to pretend that the loud "thunk" that followed that statement was an artifact of a faulty connection, though he rather suspected the alternatives - that the sound had been some priceless artifact hitting the floor or Enjolras' head hitting the wall - were far more likely in the given instance. The next words Enjolras spoke were short, clipped, and full of frustrated energy. "I've been banned from the discussion."

"You… what?" Combeferre blinked and sat back up, squinting across the room as though his attempts to bring the blur into focus would also make that last statement make sense. "You've been…? I don't understand."

Silence.

Combeferre waited. He recognized the weight of this silence, could practically feel Enjolras struggling to put his frustration into words from all the way on the other side of the city. It was hard for Enjolras. He felt things so keenly, always had, but he'd been raised in a family for whom displays of emotion were a weakness. He'd learned to channel that emotional energy as he grew older, learned to turn it to productive uses, but sometimes… there were reasons Enjolras and Bahorel got on so well.

Combeferre was not afraid of Enjolras. He never had been and he never would be. Sometimes, though, he was very afraid of what Enjolras might be capable of doing if pushed too far. So Combeferre gave him space, gave him room to breathe, and didn't interfere when Enjolras needed time to regain control. He would be here when Enjolras came out of it, and he would help turn that cold fury into something good.

Finally, Enjolras let out a lengthy sigh, and Combeferre let out his held breath along with him. "They were discussing the defunding of Planned Parenthood clinics."

"Oh, Enjolras…"

"I know, Combeferre. I know." Another sigh. Enjolras had strong feelings about Planned Parenthood and the necessary services they provided, had even stronger feelings about a woman's right to choose and the State's responsibility to support that right no matter what she chose. And Enjolras was capable of being diplomatic about a great many things, but this was not one of them. That was Combeferre's fault, really, though Enjolras would never have said it outright. What he did say was, "They just don't understand. And no amount of talking on my part ever helps. And I just got so angry…"

Combeferre fell back against the couch, raised a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose once more. "What did you call him this time?" At Enjolras' hedging and befuddled mutters, Combeferre clarified, "Your father, Enjolras. What was it this time? It must have been spectacular to get you banned from the conversation entirely." Combeferre drummed his fingers against the couch, waiting, patient, certain he wasn't going to like the answer but almost vindictively eager to hear it anyway.

"I may have called him a backwards, redneck hick and the poorest excuse for a sample of his precious Lord's great work that ever existed?"

"Enjolras!"

"He called your mother a whore, Combeferre! I couldn't fucking well let that slide."

Silence filled the air between them, then. It wasn't something they spoke of often - in fact, in Combeferre's entire memory, he could only recall it being mentioned once - but if one looked at his mother's age and his own, and one did the math, it wasn't difficult to come to the correct conclusions about the circumstances of Combeferre's birth. And so, attacks on Planned Parenthood were a sore spot for Enjolras because he was far too aware that without it he might not have a best friend, and he had reacted as he always did when that subject came up. It just so happened that the stakes had been higher this time. It seemed Combeferre wasn't the only one making decisions putting another above his family tonight. He wouldn't thank Enjolras for this. Enjolras wouldn't expect it, wouldn't want it, would be embarrassed if Combeferre even tried, so Combeferre's only reply was, "No… no, I suppose you couldn't."

Another noise carried across the phone, this one more of a "whump" than a "thunk," and more likely indicative of Enjolras dropping himself down across whatever piece of furniture he'd found handy than of anything else being dropped. Smiling, Combeferre let himself slide down to lay across the couch, as well, and closed his eyes. With Enjolras' voice warm and comforting in his ear and the soft embrace of the cushions at his back, for a moment, it almost felt as though Enjolras was there with him, right beside him.

Enjolras' voice had taken on a different timbre, now, a softer one, a gentler one. "I won't have them speak ill of you or your family, Combeferre. Even if it gets me banned from the dinner table conversation. I'd rather talk to you than them, anyway, so I certainly wouldn't change what I said even if I had the chance to go back and undo it."

A smile curved Combeferre's lips at that, at the sincerity in Enjolras' voice. "No, you wouldn't. You wouldn't be you, if you would." Enjolras loved nothing more than a chance to grandstand - especially in front of those with every reason to maintain the status quo. He had a more than fair track record at converting even those stalwart conservatives to his point of view. His own family had been his favorite targets for years, considering their class and complacency, and he went back home every year for the holidays hoping that this year would be the year he would finally win them over. He did not give up easily. So, to willingly relinquish his right to converse, to effect any change in his family, whatsoever, to help a friend… Combeferre realized how rare and precious a thing that was, realized well what Enjolras had truly meant when he said he'd give it up again in a heartbeat, just for Combeferre.

A comfortable silence fell between them, then, and Combeferre was content to let it lie. It wasn't often that Enjolras was still - it was even less often that he was quiet, as well - and when those moments happened, they were moments that Combeferre cherished. They were moments when he allowed himself to let his mind roll forwards, to envision that hazy someday when there might be no more injustices left to fight… a hazy someday when they could relax and just _be_. It might not come in their lifetime, but a significant part of Combeferre still hoped it would.

After a while, the sound of raised voices came through from the other end of the phone and Combeferre frowned, his eyes drifting open and narrowing when Enjolras' breathing quickened and soon spiraled into irritated grumbling. Combeferre made a querying noise in response, but Enjolras dismissed it with a quick, "Nothing," and returned to taking the deep, slow breaths which always accompanied an attempt to soothe his own temper. Enjolras' own pride and reticence aside, Combeferre should have just brought Enjolras home with him for the holiday. After all the years they'd known each other, and knowing Enjolras' difficulties dealing with his family at the best of times, no one would have even blinked. And the longer Combeferre held that phone to his ear, listening to the soft sounds of Enjolras' breathing as he did his level best to calm himself down, the harder it was to remember why they hadn't seriously considered that solution themselves.

It wasn't until Combeferre opened his eyes to locate the source of a soft noise that had originated near the doorway that he realized he'd allowed them to fall shut again as he had been listening to Enjolras breathe. When he moved to sit up, however, his mother just smiled softly at him and shook her head, making a zipping motion over her own lips. Combeferre smiled in return. Of course, she understood. She would never push, would never force either of them into confessing a thing they were not even ready to acknowledge, much less confess, but she understood… and she worried. Even now, she was miming putting food into her mouth and chewing in exaggerated motions before pointing at Combeferre and raising an eyebrow in query. Combeferre huffed out a soft laugh at her game of charades and shook his head. She sighed and rolled her eyes, but she did come close enough to ruffle his hair and blow a kiss towards the receiver end of the phone before walking back out.

It was barely a moment after that that Enjolras' confused voice sounded from the other end of the phone, the tone dry and ready to be amused, as though a joke had been shared and Enjolras was not yet sure it was funny. "Is there a reason you're suddenly making kissing noises at me or did I manage to somehow fall asleep and miss something significant in the conversation?"

Softly chuckling at the husky sound Enjolras' voice always took on after a lengthy stretch of deliberately being silenced, Combeferre said, "My mother."

Tone just as dry but now even more amused, Enjolras answered, "That hasn't exactly clarified the situation."

Combeferre debated several possible answers to that statement before finally deciding upon one. Enjolras had been his best friend for most of his life. They understood each other in ways no one else had ever understood them. They complemented each other, correcting and completing each other in ways that made them better together than what either would have been alone. It was impossible for either to imagine their existence without being just a conjunction away from the other - Enjolras and Combeferre, Combeferre and Enjolras. Everyone knew they came as a set, but they never _spoke_ of it. They never discussed it. They certainly never acted upon it. And, if the truth were known, Combeferre still wasn't certain either of them _wished_ to act on it. What he did know, however, was that this… it felt wrong. It felt wrong in the way that every injustice they'd ever battled felt wrong, albeit on a smaller scale. It felt wrong that Combeferre was here, in the loving arms of his family, and Enjolras was across town and fighting for his very right to be who he was amongst people who had never appreciated him and never would… when he should have been _here_, at Combeferre's side…

…where he belonged.

And it felt just as wrong as that to be having this conversation over the phone. Enjolras should be here for it. Combeferre should be able to look into those eyes - windows to the soul, and far more transparent in Enjolras than in most people - and gauge how his next words would truly be received. This was a poor second choice, but it was all he had. He would make it work… but he would not do it lying down across the couch with the phone clutched to his ear like a lovesick teenager confessing to their first crush.

Combeferre replaced his glasses and rolled himself slowly back up into a sitting position before answering. "It's Christmas Eve. I think she'd rather have all her children at home with her rather than scattered around the city."

It wasn't everything Combeferre wanted to say. It wasn't everything by a long shot. But, it was all he would allow himself when they were separated. He'd not utter that particular confession when they were apart. Enjolras deserved more than that… _he_ deserved more than that. But, Enjolras and Combeferre had known each other so long and so well, each was far too adept at reading the true meaning between the lines of what was spoken… and responding in kind. So, Combeferre hadn't said everything, but he hoped he'd said enough.

The quiet hitch in Enjolras' breathing was the only thing to give away that he'd registered the import of what Combeferre had said, the soft rustle of cloth-on-cloth the only thing to give away that he, too, had reclaimed a sitting position to answer him. "I have a responsibility to my family."

Combeferre leaned forwards, as he would have had Enjolras truly been sitting across from him, breathing those words into the space between them. "Fulfilling familial responsibilities is crucial to a well-functioning society."

Softer now, as though Enjolras had bowed his head to escape the sincerity in Combeferre's voice. "The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few."

Feeling as though he might shake apart with the inability to say the words he really needed to say, Combeferre's free hand dropped to clutch at his leg, even if, in his mind, it was not himself he held onto so tightly. "A neat diversion of the topic, but quoting Star Trek at me will not excuse you from answering to my mother's wishes."

A watery laugh, now, and Combeferre closed his eyes to savor that sound - the sound of emotions wrought so close to the surface that the one which should have been hidden was exposed. Enjolras would not have meant the tears to be audible under that laugh. Combeferre had struck a nerve, and in so doing… he'd won. "Well, we can't have that, can we? A compromise, then. Presuming the blizzard the meteorologists are predicting is a hysterical overestimation, as usual, I'll join you tomorrow in time for breakfast."

Combeferre smiled, allowed himself to lean back into the couch, grateful for this small victory, and beginning to be hopeful of larger victories to come. "Blizzard or no blizzard, you will be here. My father owns snowshoes and I will come and fetch you if I must." And beneath those words were others - silent, but no less heartfelt.

_(I don't care what it takes to bring you back to my side. I'll do it… because I love you.)_

"Then I'll look forwards to spending Christmas morning with you and your family." The smile in those words was so warm, so glad, that it was palpable, and Combeferre leaned into it gratefully, certain that the words within his words had been understood… and accepted.

_(I won't leave you, again… because I love you, too.)_

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**A/N:**  
And, finally, I'd like to say a very big thank you to doeskin-pantaloons, my amazing beta-reader. This story is the better for having passed through her hands. Thank you! ^_^


End file.
